


Rome Wasn't Built In A Day (But It Burned In One)

by WaitingForMyHogwartsLetter



Category: Dynasty (TV 2017), The 100 (TV)
Genre: Abby Griffin Being an Asshole, Bellarke, Bisexual Clarke Griffin, Clarke Griffin & John Murphy Friendship, F/F, F/M, How Do I Tag, More tags coming, POV Alternating, POV Bellamy Blake, POV Clarke Griffin, POV Raven Reyes, Slow Burn Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, dynasty au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24556801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaitingForMyHogwartsLetter/pseuds/WaitingForMyHogwartsLetter
Summary: The 100 Dynasty AU that no one asked for.Clarke Griffin is the sole heir to Griffin Enterprises, her mother's business empire. But she doesn't want it. She'd much rather do something good, and her mother's company is the opposite.Bellamy Blake runs the Aurora Foundation with his sister, a charity built on helping send disadvantaged kids to college on scholarships.Raven Reyes is an aspiring journalist, hoping to run her own newspaper some day. She gets a job working as the Griffin's pilot to try and dig up dirt on them.John Murphy works in the Griffin's security team, but he'd much rather run his own restaurant. He transfers to their kitchen, where he meets Emori.Bellamy and Clarke meet while organising a project to help rebuild a burned-down building from their high school.Raven finds out her boyfriend is cheating on her with Clarke.After six years, the body of Clarke's high school best friend Wells is dredged up from the lake by Griffin Manor.I don't know where I'm going with this, but it might be fun.
Relationships: Abby Griffin/Marcus Kane, Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Bryan/Nathan Miller, Clarke Griffin/Lexa (minor), Emori/John Murphy (The 100), Finn Collins/Clarke Griffin (minor), Finn Collins/Raven Reyes (minor), Jasper Jordan/Maya Vie, Monty Green/Harper McIntyre, Octavia Blake/Lincoln
Comments: 11
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

_**—**_ _**Clarke Griffin** **—**_

The knock on the door brought her out of what could’ve been a nice restful sleep. Active word ‘could’. It was not. She rolled over, pulling the pillow over her head and burrowing down into the mattress to avoid whatever she would be forced to do today. Unfortunately, whoever was at the door seemed to be annoyingly persistent with their knocking, and the sound was unrelenting against her wishes to return to sleep. 

So much for a “lazy day”. 

Then again, Clarke wasn’t sure her mother knew the meaning of “lazy day”. The knocking continued and with a groan she slid her feet into the fluffy slippers by her bedside and pulled a robe around her before answering the door. “Who is it and why are you here before 8:30?”

She opened the door to reveal one of the family bodyguards— John Murphy— with a smug look on his face. Although there was rarely a time where Murphy _didn’t_ have a smug look on his face. 

“Morning, Princess,” he winked. “You’re wanted downstairs. Some big emergency or something. I don’t know. Will there be waffles?” 

Clarke sighed, “If you spoke to anyone else like this, they’d fire you.”

“But you won’t, ‘cause you _love_ me really,” Murphy grinned playfully. 

She rolled her eyes, “I don’t hate you, although if you continue to wake me up at seven on a daily basis then I _might_ rethink my decision. Thanks for passing on the message. Tell my mom I’ll be down in ten.” 

“Really? I’m not a carrier pigeon, Griffin,” he groaned.

“Says the man about to leave after delivering a message to _me_ ,” she said pointedly. Rolling her eyes and smiling a little, she shooed him out of the door frame before closing the door after him and getting dressed. 

Once downstairs, Clarke poured herself a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and sat down at the dining table which was so long it was barely ever full. She would never understand why they needed a thirty-two seater table. It was only Clarke and her mom in the Griffin Manor, and usually if they had more than twelve guests it would be at a hired-out restaurant, or on the summer patio. Clarke put it down to the fact that it was there because it could be. The room was large enough and it looked elegant. Even before her dad died, it was still only the three of them. He used to rotate occasionally, taking it in turns to switch up whichever seat he was sitting in until they were all used equally throughout various meals. 

It was one of her father’s many wondrous quirks. Her mother, on the other hand, couldn’t stand it. 

“Clarke, good morning,” Abigail Griffin smiled at her daughter, but it wasn’t a genuine smile. It was her ‘I need you to do something for me’ smile. “Do you have any plans today?”

Clarke rolled her eyes, “I didn’t, hence why I was trying to sleep _in_. It’s a Saturday, normal people don’t work every second of every day or our lives would be a hell of a lot shorter.”

Abby forced a laugh, “Anyway, we’ve hit a roadblock with one of the new shareholders.” 

“You have _dozens_ of shareholders, Mom. Why is this one so important?” Clarke sighed, pushing the pieces of waffle around her plate with her fork. “We have bigger things to worry about.”

“Like the PR scandal you caused? That is the _reason_ why GE is currently having problems with its future potential shareholders?” Abby narrowed her eyes at her daughter in annoyance and Clarke tilted her head back and uttered an inhuman groan. “Don’t do that. It’s unbecoming.”

Clarke groaned again. This time it was mostly out of frustration, but also largely to spite her mother. “Griffin Enterprises has enough PR issues, this is just one you can’t control. My friday nights are the one element of my life that you can’t control. If I want to leave a club with a woman, then I’ll leave a club with a fucking woman… and then I will fuck that woman.” 

“It’s not even the fact that she’s a woman. Yes, that doesn’t help, but she’s an environmental activist who currently has four websites dedicated to protesting _against_ our company! The company that you are the _sole heir_ of!” Abby screeched. Abigail Griffin wasn’t one to keep her temper, but the only place she would really ever let herself fly off the handle was at the Manor, when there were zero guests. This was apparently one of those times. “You disgrace the Griffin family name! Our family name!”

“If you were to let me steer the company in a less destructive direction then maybe I would be proud to have that name! But you won’t let me, you never do. Because you _always_ know what’s best!” Their cosy family breakfast was reduced to a screaming match for the third time this month. “Maybe if you and your dick-for-brains shareholders actually stepped into the twenty-first century for more than two seconds at a time you’d learn to take the homophobic and prejudiced sticks out of your asses!” Clarke stood up from the table abruptly and a loud screech echoed through the mansion as she pushed her chair back against the marble floor. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said curtly, “I am going to go and enjoy my weekend now.” 

Clarke picked up the barely-eaten plate of waffles and marched out of the dining room, ignoring the satisfying thud as she slammed the door behind her. Not bothering to even pick up a bag, Clarke grabbed her car keys and walked towards the front door. She didn’t even stop to hand Murphy the leftover waffles, practically throwing the plate at his chest as she burst past in frustration. 

It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, and he caught the plate with ease, barely spilling any of the pieces. On the days that Murphy was on guard by the door, he had gotten used to angrily receiving Clarke’s breakfast leftovers, and he wasn’t complaining. Waffles are waffles, whether there’s flecks of splashed butter on his collar or not. 

• • •

_**—**_ _**Bellamy Blake** **—**_

“Octavia, we have to plan realistically. We can’t just use a load of our money for something else, it doesn’t make sense. I know you want to donate to Arkadia but that means less scholarships and we don’t have the budget,” Bellamy put his head in his hands, wishing the ground would swallow him up. “Each plan has drawbacks worse than the last.”

His sister sighed, “Bell, their arts department burned down! The entire building! That’s the theatre, the art studio _and_ the music rooms! We can’t arrange any theatre scholarships this year if they don’t have a theatre to practice in, we can’t arrange any art scholarships if the kids have nowhere to work, and how can you record your music composition without any of the equipment? I know it doesn’t make sense cost-wise but we need to make an allowance.” 

“I know, O. I know. And I know that you grew up there, with that theatre program. It’s killing me, but we used our fundraising budget already for this year so we would be completely out of pocket if we decided to run with this, it’s impossible. This isn’t an “allowance”, it’s bankruptcy.” 

“Take a break, Bell,” Octavia leant over and put a hand on his arm reassuringly. “We’ll figure it out later, but we’ve been at this all night and I think we both need to take a breather.” 

“You’re right, You’re right. It’s been— holy fuck, it’s half seven in the morning? How did we not— how did you not— what did—” He crossed to the window and pulled the blinds open, blinking when he realised it was brighter outside than the bulb lighting the office. “Shit.”

Octavia laughed, “I think you lost any concept of time after your eighth cup of coffee, which was around half one. Take the day off, I got this.” 

“How are you not exhausted?” Bellamy was mystified at the fact that his sister seemed to look more well put-together than ever, even though she hadn’t slept in over twenty four hours. 

She grinned, “I’m training myself to be nocturnal. It has its perks, so shut the damn blind and I’ll call you a cab.” 

“I can drive,” he reassured her, in the least reassuring tone possible. 

“Shit, big brother, I don’t think you can even make it to the elevator without passing out.” 

Bellamy grabbed his jacket, pulling it on and picking up his phone on the way out. “Call the cab if you want, but I’ll be fine.” He made his way to the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor, leaning against the wall and shutting his eyes as he tried to figure out how the hell he got into this mess. 

Arkadia high school. _His_ high school. _Octavia’s_ high school. They both had so many brilliant memories there, and he couldn’t help them because of fucking _budgeting._ He didn’t manage to start his own charity, after everything him and his sister had been through, just to turn people away. The whole point of the Aurora Foundation was to help kids with financial problems pay for the ivy league schools they wanted to apply to. But mostly it was to just help the kids, and every time they had to say no to something Bellamy felt his heart shatter a little more. 

_Can’t help with any theatre scholarships if they don’t have a goddamn theatre to practice in._

_Can’t help with any art scholarships if the kids don’t have anywhere to work._

_Can’t help with any music scholarships if the kids don’t have any equipment._

“Are you getting out? Or are you just going to stay there for another ten minutes, because last time I checked you’ve been up and down to the fourth floor at least twice now, and I’m the only person who’s actually holding the doors open and reminding you that there is a world outside of this office.” The voice drew Bellamy from his thoughts and as he checked his watch he realised it had been at least fifteen minutes since he first got in the elevator. He’d taken so long the cab had probably left by now. 

“Right. Yes. I’m getting out,” he nodded firmly, giving the woman a half-hearted smile. “Thank you.” 

“Anytime,” she smiled. “Gina Martin, and you are?” 

“Bellamy Blake.” He paused, a hand outstretched to shake hers. _Gina Martin. Gina Martin._ Why did that name ring a bell? Then it hit him. “Fuck, I’m supposed to be on my way to a meeting with you, aren’t I? About Arkadia’s arts department.” 

She laughed, flashing him a grin, “Yes, I think I’m supposed to be meeting with you and your sister? I know we arranged it for a weekend, but I do _teach_ every day so it’s the only time that worked. Is that okay?”

With an apologetic sigh, Bellamy got back in the elevator. “Of course. Sorry, long day. Let’s go have that meeting then.” 

Gina gave him an accusatory look, “It’s… 8AM.”

“That implies I’ve _slept_.”

• • •

_**— Clarke Griffin —** _

“Day drinking is _not_ a good look on you, Griffin,” Jasper raised an eyebrow at her from behind the bar as he handed her another cocktail. 

She scoffed, “You’re one to talk, Jasper Jordan.”

“That’s different!” Her friend protested, slinging a dish rag over his shoulder. “At least I’m testing out my concoctions to see if they’re good enough for the menu.” 

Monty scowled at him disapprovingly, “And what is _Clarke_ doing right now?”

“Testing out my concoctions to see if they’re good enough for the menu…” Jasper mumbled guiltily. “Well? What’s the verdict?”

Clarke sipped on the drink, “Not as good as the last one, but still better than Monty’s moonshine. At least this stuff doesn’t rot my insides.” 

“It will if you have too much of it,” Jasper supplied enthusiastically. 

She laughed, “Not exactly what I was going for Jas, but I appreciate the enthusiasm. Come on, guys. We’re supposed to be brainstorming. Figuring out a way to divert the media from my _scandalous_ bisexual love life so that my mother doesn’t run me over with a car and dump my body in the family lake, remember?”

“She wouldn’t do that…” Monty trailed off. “Would she?”

Clarke shrugged, “I’m beginning to think that it’s an increasing possibility.” 

“That bad, huh?” Jasper smiled sympathetically as he handed her _another_ drink, this time it was a vibrant yellow and on closer inspection appeared to almost _glow in the dark_.

She stirred it with the straw absent-mindedly and it transformed into a pale orange as the syrup he’d laced the bottom of the glass with mixed with the rest of its contents. “I think at this point she’d rather have a son, and she’d rather that son be Cage Wallace, heir to the Wallace family fortune and Wallace International.”

“In a world full of douche-y businessmen, Cage Wallace is the _ultimate_ d-bag,” Jasper curled his lip up in disgust. “He gives that Scott kid from school a run for his money.”

At the mention of Scott, Clarke mimed shooting herself in the head. “That guy can rot in jail.”

“Agreed,” Monty sighed. “Hang on, weren’t we supposed to be brainstorming?”

“We _are_ brainstorming…” Jasper pushed another drink down the bar for Monty. “Ways to kill Scott?”

Clarke laughed, “We’ve gone way too off topic. We were supposed to be talking about my demon of a mother.”

“Still off topic, but speaking of that Scott kid from school—” Monty suppressed a shudder— “Did you hear what happened? Arkadia’s arts building burnt down. Like I’m talking the entire theatre, and the surrounding music rooms, _and_ the art department. Clarke practically _lived_ in that art studio. I heard about it from AF, Octavia’s hell bent on getting the money, but Bellamy’s trying to be practical and it’s an absolute nightmare.”

Jasper’s eyes widened, “Wait, is the chem lab okay. IS THE CHEM LAB OKAY?”

“The chemistry lab is _fine_ , Jasper,” Monty smiled. “I know that lab is your legacy.” 

“ _Our_ legacy, my friend,” he turned to Clarke. “Did you know we perfected our first batch of moonshine in that lab?”

Clarke rolled her eyes, “Which is incredibly illegal, by the way. Yes, of course I know, Jasper I was _there._ You got me to try it and I was sick for a week, my mother was livid.” 

“Sounds about right,” Monty laughed. “And that was way before you built up your tolerance. It’s kind of annoying that you can literally out drink anyone, by the way.”

“What can I say,” she grinned, raising her glass as Jasper topped it up with two other liquids. “When you have a family like mine, you learn to hold your liquor. How else am I supposed to get through those insufferable galas? Anyway, that sucks about the Ark!”

“I know right? Throughout all the torture that was… _high school…_ It was a special place,” Monty sighed. 

“RIP Ark, the place where I met my two best friends, and had my first kiss on stage for all to see,” Jasper raised a glass of his own. “May we meet again.” 

Monty’s eyes widened, “How could I forget the Robin Hood production! Jasper’s one shot at fame…” 

Clarke stood up suddenly, catching both of the boys by surprise and narrowly avoiding knocking her mysteriously-coloured drink over. “That’s it! Not only can I shake the PR scandal, but I can _finally_ do something good with my family’s money!”

“What is this idea that your brilliant brain has come up with this time?” Monty raised an eyebrow, looking at her intently. 

She grinned, “I’m going to save the Ark’s arts program.” 

• • •

Clarke had set her mind on helping Arkadia High, and even though she knew her mother would hate it (or maybe it was _because_ she knew her mother would hate it) she had zero intention to drop this idea. So when she arrived home later that afternoon— her mother was out, thank _god_ — she sat down on the bed with her laptop and began marking out ideas. 

Phase One: Find a charitable organisation to partner with. 

She opened gmail in one tab before switching to another and looking up the Aurora Foundation website. It was sleek and well designed, and Clarke was impressed with Monty’s work. She clicked on the sidebar that said “Contact Us” and looked at the two main email addresses. 

> octaviablake@aurorafoundation.org 

> blakebellamy@aurorafoundation.org

Clarke remembered Octavia from the year below her at the Ark, and she was considerably more agreeable than her brother so she began to draft out an email, hoping and praying that she would agree to meet first thing next week. The next order of business was to email Maya, who handled GE’s finances, specifically the outgoing transactions.

Once she had finished, for the first time in a long time Clarke picked up the sketchbook from the desk by the window and tucked it under one arm, grabbing a set of pencils with the other. She walked downstairs into the empty house to find Murphy listening to music in the kitchen. Clarke found herself more surprised than confused, as she was pretty sure her mother had sent most of the staff home this afternoon— hence the empty house— to prove a point of some sort.

Murphy was bobbing his head in time to the music and Clarke put her sketchbook down on the counter top as he spun around and added more ingredients to the pot on the stove. She had only come in to grab a glass of orange juice but she couldn’t help but watch as he worked, oblivious to the fact that she’d arrived. That is, until he opened the fridge door and saw her reflection in it, and recovered from the shock just in time to save the chicken before it hit the floor. 

“I can explain,” he raised his hands in surrender before remembering that he was still holding said chicken. Murphy placed the two chicken breasts carefully on the side before shutting the fridge door with his elbow and removing his headphones. “Your mother gave everyone the afternoon off because she said she’d be out tonight.”

“And you decided to break into the kitchen?” Clarke asked with a smirk.

“Is it really breaking in if I was already here?” He tried sheepishly, before sighing. “Who am I kidding, Princess you _know_ me. Do you want a plate?”

She laughed, “I was planning to go down to the lake and sketch for a bit, maybe throw something together later… but now that you mention it, I can eat. What are you cooking?”

“I was going to put a plate in the fridge for you anyway. It’s not like your mom would see it and freak out that I’d been in here, I don’t think she’s ever set foot in this room in her life. Chicken Katsu Curry. Can you come over here and stir the sauce? I can’t find the damn vegetable oil,” without waiting for a response Murphy had already disappeared into one of the large cupboards, leaving Clarke with no choice but to stir the sauce in his absence. 

“I’m stirring,” she announced. “But you better get back quickly because that’s about where my cooking expertise ends!”

Murphy rolled his eyes, “I know, you’re a disaster. If you didn’t have staff you’d live off takeout.”

“Hey, if my mother gave everyone the afternoon off, what are you still doing here?” Clarke frowned, “Don’t you want time off?” 

“I’d rather stay at work then go back to an apartment that looks like someone started World War III in it.” Murphy paused before adding as an afterthought. “An apartment that doesn’t have as stocked a kitchen as you do.”

Clarke laughed, shaking her head and continuing to stir. “Don’t you live with Miller?”

“Exactly. And I’m pretty sure he has a guy over, which is _another_ reason why I don’t want to be there,” he sighed. “Swap with me, I need to turn the heat down.” She did as asked and watched as he lowered the heat. “And switch again? I need to do the chicken.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, “You’d do well having a restaurant of your own, with employees of your own to boss around.” 

“Restaurants are even more expensive to get a hold of than they are to run, even you know that, Princess,” he picked up the chicken from before and split it in half to roll it in the flour. “This job pays well, but it doesn’t pay well enough for me to buy my own place.” 

She shrugged, “How much is in the fund?”

“Out of the three hundred grand that I need, I have 20k. Had to dip into it a little because _someone_ broke the toilet seat last month and we had to split the bill,” Murphy sighed, beginning to beat two eggs before pouring them into a low-rimmed bowl. 

“Was that _someone_ Miller?” 

“I’m no snitch, Griffin,” were the words that left his mouth, but his facial expression said _“Yes, it was Nate Miller.”_

Clarke snorted before commenting, “You know, you’re being incredibly antisocial. I can still hear your music from your headphones.” She grinned, “Connect to the speaker system. I know you already do it when no one’s here, it’s a miracle you haven’t already.” 

A smile spreading across his face, Murphy unplugged the headphones and connected to the speaker system, allowing “This Is The Sea” by The Waterboys to flood every speaker in Griffin Manor.

“Feel free to sing along,” she added, accompanying the comment with an eye roll. “I know you want to.”

Murphy turned over the chicken in the egg a little before breaking into song, “Running around banging your drum, like it’s 1973. Well, that was the river… this is the sea.” He put the chicken into the breadcrumbs, covering it completely before putting it on a side plate and continuing with the next piece. “Now you say you’ve got trouble, you say you’ve got pain. You say you’ve nothing left to believe in, nothing to hold on to, nothing to trust, nothing but chains.” 

She laughed, pushing herself up to sit on the counter further away and leaning against the wall. Clarke reached for her sketchbook and opened it up to a blank page, ignoring that the last sketch she did was of her old friend Wells. Instead, she focused on drawing Murphy as he finished leaning over the pan to check on the sauce and returned to the chicken. 

Clarke couldn’t cook for shit… but drawing? Drawing was something she was good at. Monty wasn’t wrong when he said she spent most of her time in the Ark’s art studio. When her dad died, three things kept her from going insane. Wells, that art studio, and copious amounts of whatever concoction Jasper and Monty were working on at the time. It was a rough year, but that’s what got her through. That is, until Wells disappeared.

Completely disappeared.

Like dropped off the ends of the earth disappeared.

The Jaha’s were family friends, and Wells and Clarke had always been close. One night, they had an argument and he drove off angry. The next thing everyone knew, he was just… _gone._ Not dead, at least, no solid proof that he wasn’t alive. Him and his car just disappeared, and that was six years ago. No one had seen or heard from him since. 

“Griffin,” Murphy caught her attention. “Open up.” 

He was walking towards her and holding a spoon with a bit of the sauce in. She put the sketchbook down and sighed, “Sketchbook, Murphy. Careful.” 

“If you don’t want any…” he trailed off with a smirk on his face, knowing full well that she _definitely_ wanted some. 

“Get back over here,” Clarke laughed, leaning over the edge of the counter to taste it. “Okay, this is seriously good. My compliments to the chef.”

Murphy rolled his eyes, “This isn’t an original. I’m tired, so this is the recipe I ripped off from Wagamama.” 

“Classy,” she laughed. “At least you’re honest about it.” Clarke hesitated, remembering something that her mother had said the other day, a smile spreading across her face. “I can’t believe I forgot to mention this when you very annoyingly woke me up this morning!” 

“What?” He asked as he put the lid on the pot with the rice in. 

Clarke grinned, “So… you know the current head chef, Daniel Lee? He’s retiring at Christmas, which means _Emori_ is getting promoted… which means her job is going to be wide open. I think you should go for it.” 

“Does the kitchen pay more or less than the security job?” He stayed calm, but Clarke could see the shift in his body language at the thought of the job. 

“Same amount, and you’ll actually enjoy the work,” she replied. 

He scoffed, “What gave you the impression that I don’t enjoy making sure you don’t get kidnapped? The Princess needs her bodyguards, after all.”

She rolled her eyes, getting up and grabbing two plates and nudging his arm lightly as she put them down. “The fact that you’ve been given the afternoon off and you’re here making dinner?”

“Shh,” he cut her off. “Presentation is everything.” 

Clarke hid her laughter as he carefully put half the rice on one plate, and the other half on the other before cutting up the chicken and placing it half on top of it and drizzling the sauce on top. “Please tell me you’re not instagramming this?”

A look of horror crossed his face as he wrinkled his nose in disgust, “Why the hell would— you know what? Doesn’t matter. No, I’m taking a picture to show Miller what he’s missing.” He paused to add, “Obviously,” like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

She picked up her plate and inhaled the smell of the sauce for a moment, ignoring Murphy’s strange look, before beginning to eat it. “Apply for the damn job, Murphy. You’ve got a few months to think it over at least.”

• • •

_**—**_ _**Bellamy Blake** **—**_

Octavia was doing the dishes while he finished clearing the table. Bellamy was dead on his feet and he began to worry that if he stayed still for longer than two seconds he’d fall asleep standing up. His sister nudged him, causing him to jump and whirl around. 

********

“Bell, _sleep._ I’ll finish up,” she assured him, giving him a gentle push in the direction of his bedroom. 

********

“It’s fine,” he shook his head. “I’m fine.”

********

“Bed. Now,” she pushed him more forcefully. 

********

He rolled his eyes, “I don’t see how you’re not exhausted.” 

********

“I don’t lunch during my lunch break, I sleep,” she reminded him. “Nocturnal, remember?” 

********

With a sigh, he conceded, making his way towards the bedroom before stopping in the doorway as he heard the familiar tone of Octavia’s email alert. She gasped, dropping one of the plates and cursing as it chipped. 

********

Bellamy frowned, walking back into the kitchen with worry creasing his brow. “O?”

********

“Remember Clarke from Arkadia High? Year above me, really good at art but wasted it all on joining her mother’s crappy company?” Octavia asked him, excitement building up. 

********

“Clarke _Griffin_? As in Griffin Enterprises Clarke Griffin?”

********

His sister grinned, “Yeah, GE Clarke Griffin. Who is _loaded_ and also the person who I just got an email from, wanting to set up a meeting on Monday about helping us get money to rebuild the Ark’s arts department!” 

********

“Griffin Enterprises Clarke Griffin, daughter of _Abby_ Griffin, wants to do something that doesn’t benefit herself? Are you sure it’s that Clarke?”

********

Octavia rolled her eyes, “How many other Clarke’s from billion-dollar companies do you know? Her email address is cgriffin@griffinenterprises.com so _yeah_ , I think it’s her. This is our shot, with her help we can do this!”

********

“I don’t trust her, O,” Bellamy warned. 

********

She sighed, “No, you don’t like her. _Therefore_ you don’t trust her. You don’t have to like her to do business with her, that’s like the number one rule of business.” Octavia grinned, “This is going to be our biggest project yet!”

********


	2. Chapter 2

**— _Raven Reyes —_**

Curled against her boyfriend’s chest, all she felt was bliss. For the first time in a while, Finn had stayed the night at her new place and waking up to have him still there in the morning was like a breath of fresh air for her. His job had been keeping him busy recently, and she couldn’t blame him for picking up extra jobs at Griffin Manor but it was nice to actually be able to spend time with him. 

“So what’s it like driving the Princess everywhere?” Raven laughed. 

“Being the Griffin’s chauffeur isn’t that bad, and Clarke isn’t terrible. Her mother’s awful, but she’s nice,” he replied, twirling his fingers in her long hair. 

Raven rolled her eyes, “She’s a spoiled rich kid, and she’ll be even worse when she turns 25 next year and gets all of Daddy’s money.” 

“If you actually got to know her, you’d know that she’s actually quite nice!” Finn protested. “Driving her isn’t half as bad as it seems.” 

She grinned, “Well, you might not be the _only_ one transporting the Griffin’s soon.” 

“What do you mean?” He shifted down the bed to face Raven and wrapped an arm around his girlfriend’s waist. “What are you planning?”

“Well… you know my pilot’s license is in the works, in two weeks time I’m going to be able to apply to pilot their private jet,” Raven answered with a smile. 

Finn frowned, “I thought you were going to apply for that journalism position?”

“I thought you’d be happy for me?” she looked up at him questioningly. “Besides, this will pay more and help me run my website while I _also_ get the added bonus of hearing any inside gossip on the family. It’s a win-win situation.”

“You sent me to be their chauffeur to get inside gossip on the family for your blog. So far, nothing other than the Queen is a witch, and the Princess isn’t,” he shrugged, a playful grin on his face. “Is that not enough for you?”

Raven rolled her eyes, “I’m trying to find out all of GE’s shady doings. The more opportunities for information, the better. Plus, I get to fly a plane as a job, I’d say that’s pretty fucking awesome.” 

“As long as you don’t, you know, _crash_ ,” Finn added. 

She sighed, rolling over and using her feet to push him out of bed. “You have such little faith in me, your amazingly talented girlfriend. It’s embarrassing.” 

• • •

**— _Bellamy Blake —_**

Bellamy ticked off the meeting after it finished, running his finger down the list to see when the next one was. _3:45 - Clarke Griffin._ He sighed, it was like he was split down the middle and half of his head was excited for the opportunity to save Arkadia’s arts department, but the other just wanted to get it over and done with already. Griffin Enterprises weren't exactly quiet in their dealings and he had a suspicion that Abigail Griffin had done more than her fair share of dodgy things. He couldn’t help but be hesitant about letting her daughter work with the foundation that he’d built with his sister. Was it risky? Yes. Did they desperately need the help if they wanted to save the Ark? Also yes. 

It was complicated. 

To take his mind off things, instead of having lunch with his sister like they’d planned— although as he passed her office, Bellamy could see that she was already eating with her friend Niylah— he decided to take a trip down memory lane and go to Arkadia. 

Once he’d grabbed a visitor pass from the front desk and made a promise to pop in to see Principal Diyoza before he left, Bellamy made his way over to the other side of the campus to see the wreckage that once was the arts building. It was surrounded by police tape, but he ducked under it and walked around to the other side. The building was in ruins, but inside the charred shell he could just about see the feeble-looking remains of the stage. 

Bellamy sighed. Octavia had loved that stage. She’d always been big on expressing herself. More often that not _loudly_ and with excessive hand movements to back up her stories. That was why after their mother died, he had got her into acting. Even when she closed herself off, it got her to open back up again and fall back in love with the theatre. His sister loved karaoke, but she wouldn’t sing on stage. She loved to dance, as well, but above all of it, she preferred raw acting. That is, with the occasional musical theatre, but _only_ occasional.

And he was proud to admit that she was pretty damn good at it. 

The first time he’d seen his sister on stage, even though she was reluctant at first Bellamy had managed to convince Octavia to audition for the Ark’s production of Robin Hood. She landed the role of Maid Marian and he was pretty sure the boy who got Hood only auditioned because he wanted to kiss Octavia, but he wasn’t half bad. Bellamy remembered how proud he’d been, how he was the first to start the standing ovation when the curtain fell, how he’d taken her out for milkshakes afterwards… 

Out of the corner of his eye, Bellamy spotted a half-burnt skull that had been a prop for their Shakespeare productions, Hamlet specifically. _Alas, poor Yorick_. A memory came to mind of being forced to give an oral presentation on Hamlet, which he’d managed to swerve by reciting the entire “To be or not to be” speech. He wondered if he could still remember it. 

Bellamy cleared his throat. “To be or not to be, that is the question. Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune… or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing, end them. To die— to sleep, no more; and by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to, ‘tis a consummation devoutly to be wish’d.” _Damn it_ , he thought. _What’s next?_

An unfamiliar voice continued for him, “To die, to sleep? To sleep; perchance to dream. Aye, there’s the rub; for in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause… that’s all I got.” 

He looked up to see a blonde woman hovering in the doorway with an amused smile on her face. 

• • •

**— _Clarke Griffin —_**

She hadn’t been _planning_ on taking a detour to the Ark on the way back from lunch with Harper— who she had to make a mental note about to set her up with Monty— but an old memory of painting her piece for her final grade as a senior managed to bring her there. The floor that used to be home to the art studio was long gone, the most stable part of the building lying with the remnants of the stage. 

Clarke remembered Monty and Jasper roping her into painting the set for the only production Jasper ever starred in: Robin Hood. He’d auditioned for the role because he had a crush on Octavia at the time, even though she was clearly flirting with Atom from the lighting crew. She’d helped with all of the scenery while Monty had worked on special effects to give Jasper the much-needed support. The whole experience had been absolutely terrifying for him, but he’d manage to convince them that learning the pages and pages of script lines was worth it for the kiss he got from Octavia in the final scene each of the three nights the show aired. 

When she arrived to see what was left of the theatre, there was a man standing on the stage reciting a passage she knew all-too-well from her sophomore english class. The “to be or not to be” speech from Shakespeare’s Hamlet. God, Dr Tsing had been such a bitch for that oral assignment— none of the other teachers forced their classes to give oral assignments on Shakespeare, just her— and Clarke remembered the feeling of wanting to throttle the woman as clearly as if it was yesterday. But somehow, she didn’t end up learning it for the exact assignment. She knew it already from earlier on, when there was a production of Hamlet in her freshman year. For some unknown reason Clarke had volunteered with Wells to help backstage, and the kid playing Hamlet knew all of his lines apart from _that_ speech, so she was forced to learn it by heart and whisper it to him from the wings each night.

The guy’s floppy curls covered his face a little, so she didn’t recognise him at first, but when he trailed off unable to recall the next part of the passage, she couldn’t help but step in with the bit she could remember. “To die, to sleep? To sleep; perchance to dream. Aye, there’s the rub; for in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause… that’s all I got.” She seemed to have taken him by surprise, and the deer-in-headlights look that he gave her as she walked in was a pretty picture that she’d want to draw later if she got the chance. “Sorry for interrupting,” Clarke laughed. “You just didn’t look like you remembered the next bit.”

“I didn’t,” he smiled, hopping down from the only part of the stage still standing. “Should you be back here?”

She flashed her visitor’s badge, “Should you?”

He did the same, looking up and giving her the opportunity to see who he was, “But I was more referring to the caution tape outside…” 

Clarke shrugged, “Didn’t stop you, Blake.” 

“Fair enough,” Bellamy laughed. “I recognise you… wait, you’re Clarke Griffin, aren’t you?”

“And you’re Bellamy Blake. I have a meeting with you later, coincidentally about this place. What are the odds?” Clarke smiled. “And do you normally recite passages of Shakespeare’s tragedies in your free time? Or was this a one-time thing.” 

Bellamy rolled his eyes, “I don’t know why, I just remembered learning the whole thing to spite Dr Tsing.”

“God, that woman was _awful_ ,” Clarke agreed. “Did you come here for the explicit purpose of reliving high school memories, or was there another reason?” 

“To scope the place out, take a look at the damage to see what we need to do… but mostly the memories,” Bellamy shrugged. “Couldn’t help it.” He glanced at what was left of the first row of seats, tapping one of them. “I sat right here for my sister’s first performance. Every night. Every time she was in a show I sat right here, and now this whole place is just…” he let out a breath. 

Clarke nodded, “I know what you mean. At least you got to come here… the art department was on the second floor and I practically _lived_ there throughout my time at this school. The staircase ends halfway up.” 

“That sucks,” he sent her a sympathetic look before checking his watch. “Our meeting is in forty minutes, and I promised I’d pay Diyoza a visit before I left, so is it alright if I go?”

“I _also_ have been told I need to visit Diyoza before I leave, so I might as well walk with you,” she shrugged. “Besides, I can’t stick around very long here anyway, this building is like a ghost town.” 

• • •

**— _Bellamy Blake —_**

Meeting Clarke Griffin again for the first time in years was… weird, to say the least. It had taken a few moments, but he’d recognised her. She used to be good friends with Octavia, even though his sister was in the year below her. Then again, that didn’t prove much because Octavia was friends with everyone. The only person he could remember her ever not being on good terms with was her earth science teacher, Charles Pike. 

She didn’t come off as the kind of selfish rich princess that she had the reputation of being, nor did she seem anything like her mother. To be honest, the last thing he’d expected today was to see her outside of the meeting, or be walking through the campus of his old high school with her after having had a chat with his old Principal. 

Yet here they were. 

They arrived back at the car park and said goodbye for now, before getting in their separate cars— Clarke’s was a Porsche, Bellamy’s was an old truck he’d had since high school— to drive to the same place, his and Octavia’s office. He called Octavia, who waited until the third ring to pick up. 

“Bell? Where’d you go?” She asked him.

“Just for a drive, but you won’t believe who I ran into,” he replied, pulling out of the car park. 

Octavia sighed, “Clarke Griffin?” 

“How did—” he broke off, trying to figure it out as the Porsche overtook him, forcing him to roll his eyes at Clarke (who actually noticed in the mirror). 

“She told me,” his sister replied. “We exchanged numbers after the email chain and Clarke just texted to say she’d just ran into you at the Ark and she was looking forward to seeing me again.” 

“Ah,” Bellamy laughed. “I knew you weren’t psychic.” 

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” she answered. “Either way, now that you know she’s not complete and utter trash of a human being, are you ready to work with her?”

Bellamy sighed, “She’s not demon spawn, but it could be an act— you know how much her mom hates our work.” 

“Do you even hear yourself Bell? We had _one_ incident with Abigail Griffin _one_ time. She’s over it. She’s not sending Clarke to spy on us, trust me,” Octavia told him knowingly. 

“I’m not suggesting that she’s going to spy on us, that’s ridiculous. I’m just saying we have to be careful. Her family business isn’t exactly all by the books, O.”

He could practically sense the fact that Octavia was rolling her eyes at him down the phone. “Big brother, you worry too much,” she said pointedly. “Now, don’t be late.”

• • •

**— _John Murphy —_**

After a minor incident involving a journalist and the front gate, Murphy was pretty much ready to call it a day. Unfortunately, it was only just midday which meant he had a considerable amount of time to kill. It’s not like he _didn’t_ enjoy working for the Griffins, even if Abby was the boss from hell sometimes, but he had always had bigger dreams. 

Bigger dreams that died when his dad did, anyway. 

A lot of his family’s money was wasted by his mother. She drank herself almost to death every night after he went to jail, where Alex Murphy ultimately died. His mum followed him soon after, which left seventeen-year-old John in a house he had no use for, with a mortgage he couldn’t pay off and a hatred for the world and everyone in it. 

Before his dad died, Murphy wanted to start a restaurant. Not just any restaurant, but the kind that food critics write articles about— good articles— and the place that everyone wants to go to at least once in their lifetime. That was the kind of place John Murphy wanted to run. But it’s a little hard to do that when you’re barely out of high school and don’t have a job. 

That’s when he met Miller. They used to go to the Ark together, although Murphy was surprised that his old “friend” remembered him, considering they hadn’t spoken that many times and Murphy had missed most of his senior classes, barely passing in the end. Miller got him a job at Griffin Manor, working for Abby and Clarke, and he helped him sell his house and they got an apartment together once Miller moved out of _his_ parents’ house. He’d been a part of their security team ever since. 

At first, him and Clarke didn’t exactly get along very well. What with his first thoughts of her being that she follows in her mother’s footsteps. But one night, he was on his way out when he found the princess herself sitting in her porsche with a bottle of something in her hand because she’d rather spend the night in the car than in the house with her mother. Murphy remembered the night pretty clearly— well, the beginning of it anyway, the rest was slightly fuzzy— and without asking, he’d slid into the passenger seat of the fancy car and asked her what she was doing. 

It was right after the time her best friend Wells went missing. After having a few swigs of her bottle of what he now knew was moonshine (although Murphy seemed to liken it more to paint thinner) he revealed to her what his first impression of her was. Clarke seemed appalled at that, and he soon found out that she was the furthest thing from her mother possible, but the “Princess” nickname seemed to stick. 

And so started one of the weirdest friendships Murphy had ever been part of. 

Murphy made his way to one of the stables, which had been converted into a staffroom of sorts for the security team and groundskeepers, and grabbed himself a soda from the fridge, putting his headphones on to sit in front of the outside security feeds. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and shot a text to Miller. 

Miller  
  
It's absolutely dead here since you left this morning.  
  
Super bored.  
  


Miller replied quickly. The guy had pretty much perfected the ‘texting blind with one hand’ skill, and could usually reply within minutes (if he felt like it) without alerting Abby that he wasn’t paying attention. 

Miller  
  
It's absolutely dead here since you left this morning.  
  
Super bored.  
  
I'd trade you, but she's on the warpath.  
  


Murphy pulled a face, texting back. 

Miller  
  
It's absolutely dead here since you left this morning.  
  
Super bored.  
  
I'd trade you, but she's on the warpath.  
  
You can keep her. I'll stick with camera duty.  
  


• • •

_**— Clarke Griffin —** _

Out of her and Bellamy, she arrived at the office first and got into the elevator up to the fourth flaw. Octavia was there to meet her and they embraced in a quick hug before stepping back and Clarke let Octavia take her into the meeting room. 

“I told Bell not to be late,” Octavia muttered to herself. 

“He’s not late,” Clarke clarified. “I’m just early.” 

Octavia grinned, “I saw your fancy car, Griffin. You gotta take me for a spin in that thing at some point.” 

“On one condition,” Clarke leant closer to her, lowering her voice. “We have to put the top down.” 

“Deal,” Octavia grinned. 

Bellamy appeared in the doorway, “Please tell me you didn’t have the entire meeting without me.” 

Clarke and Octavia burst out laughing, sharing a look before answering simultaneously: “Yes.” 

He rolled his eyes and pulled up a chair next to them, turning to Clarke, “So you’re going to fund a project to rebuild the entire building?” 

“I haven’t entirely worked out the kinks with my accountant Maya yet… but that’s the plan. But I want to be as involved as I possibly can. With everything, if that’s okay?” She suggested. 

Before Bellamy could ask why, his little sister steam-rollered him and agreed. “Perfect. I like the fact that you want to be hands on.”

“How much money are you willing to spend on this project?” Bellamy asked. 

Clarke paused for a moment, thinking it over, before replying, “As much as necessary. I want to fund the construction for the new building, but there’s only a certain allowance that can come out of the GE funds for stuff like this in one go, so I have to talk to my mother before we start since she’s the head of the company. I can definitely supply enough for the construction, 100%, but the kids are going to need equipment, right? I want to help with that too, but I’m not completely sure how possible that is right now.” 

“But you’re willing to fund construction on the entire building?” He prompted. 

“Yes,” Clarke replied. “That’s the priority. Until I’ve spoken to my mother, we have to think about the equipment on a ‘cross that bridge when we get to it’ kind of basis. Do you have a lawyer that can draw up the contract for the first part?” 

“We do,” Bellamy confirmed. “The equipment is very important, but we might be able to use our own budget for that since we were trying to put some money towards the building in the first place but didn’t have enough for the entire construction.” 

Clarke paused, “Who gets to design the building?” 

Octavia and Bellamy shared a look. Clarke wondered if they’d thought about that yet. “Once we’d drawn up a contract, the plan was to get together a team of people— us included— with Diyoza and a few of the arts kids to see what they’d want to see in the new building and work like that. It seems a little…” Bellamy didn’t seem sure of how to describe it. “I don’t know, it doesn’t sound realistic, but—”

“It’s a great idea,” Clarke smiled. “Who better to decide what the kids need than the kids, right?”

“Right,” he smiled back. 

Octavia raised an eyebrow, “Brilliant. I’ll get the AF lawyer to draw up a contract and send it over. Keep the email dialogue open, you have my number… I’ll send you Bell’s as well, it’s easier that way… that’s about it, I think.”

A spur of the moment decision, Clarke whirled around just as she was about to leave. “Do you guys want to get drinks later? To celebrate? My friend owns a bar— Grounders— it’s not that far away. Maybe we could meet there around eight, if you’re interested. I know Monty volunteers here occasionally, but Jasper works there if you remember him?”

“I’ll have to think—” Bellamy started. 

“We’re in,” Octavia cut him off, winking. “Eight sounds good. Are you still friends with Harper? I haven’t seen her in _years_.” 

“I’ll invite her,” Clarke smiled. “Bellamy, don’t you know John Murphy and Nate Miller?” 

Bellamy nodded, “I haven’t seen him since— it’s been a while. I guess if Miller’s coming then I _might_ as well…” 

“We already said yes, Bell,” Octavia shot him a look and he rolled his eyes. “See you at eight.”


End file.
